


The Broken Soldier

by AthenaFangGranger26



Series: The Adventures of 'Lizabeth Page [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, SPOILER! the death is Reichenbach, rating is for suicide attempt, still never sure I spelled that correctly, still stink at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaFangGranger26/pseuds/AthenaFangGranger26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reichenbach has come and gone, all while Liz was away at Uni. She demands to come home after getting the news. She learns to cope with how her life has changed without the amazing force that is Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Broken Soldier

I was walking hand in hand with Sean to my next class, when one of the school's runners came running (ha!) up to us.

"Lizabeth Page?" The girl gasped, she looked like a freshman-age kid, sorry, ninth year by Brit standards.

"Yes..." I answered, warily; I never got messages.

"You have an urgent message in the headmaster's office." She rambled.

"How 'urgent'?"

"Life or death."

I dropped Sean's hand and took off running. I'd had enough experience chasing and being chased by criminals that a dash to the headmaster's office was nothing. I couldn't wait for Sean.

With my current adopted parents, 'life or death' could mean one of them was kidnapped, or being held for ransom. I didn't even want to entertain the worst of the possibilities.

The headmaster was talking on the phone when I burst into his office. He didn't even look angry that I had come in uninvited. He just said a quick 'here she is' and handed the phone to me.

"Hello? What's wrong?" I hissed.

Behind me, Sean burst into the room. He too knew the urgency of the call. He had accidentally been wrapped up in one of my family's cases a few months ago. He knew the infamous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson well.

"Honey, it's Mrs. Hudson." The sad voice said on the other end.

"Yes, yes. What's wrong?" I snapped.

"Honey, your father's dead." Mrs. Hudson whispered.

It was like someone had shot me. It was like a deep blow to the chest. All my breath left me. 'Dead'? No, that can't be. Sherlock and John were immortal. Wait, she said 'father', as in one.

"Which one?" I managed to whisper.

"Hon, it was Sherlock."

The phone slipped out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I froze and left my mouth gaping. 'Him'? No! I felt myself falling as my knees gave out. Sean was at my side instantly, but I wouldn't let him touch me.

Suddenly a thought occurred to me and I scrambled for the phone again. I held it up against my ear again. "Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Who killed him?" My voice grew rough and angered. "Tell me who."

There was silence and my blood boiled. My heart was racing, and silent tears were streaming.

"He did."

"He who? Moriarty?" I hissed. I'd skin the stupid 'consulting criminal'.

"No, hun, Sherlock...." Mrs. Hudson pulled away from the receiver.

"Sherlock what?" I screamed into the phone.

"He-he...he jumped off the hospital roof."

The silent anger flew into my system again. "Why?"

"He was a fake. He made up Moriarty."

"No, I've seen Moriarty. He's not made up; he's a nutjob. Sherlock had to have been pushed. He wouldn't kill himself."

"John saw it himself."

"I'm coming home. Tell John to text me." I hung up without saying goodbye.

I turned and stomped out of the headmaster's office and toward my dorm.

"Lizzy! Wait!" I heard Sean yell after me, but I had static in my ears. Static created by pain, unimaginable pain.

"Lizzy!"

"Go to class, Sean. I'm leaving." I snapped, spinning to face him.

"But-"

"Sherlock's dead. I'm going home to John." I said.

"Oh, Liz..."

"No, no sadness. I'm getting revenge. Whoever did this is going down." I hissed, clenching my shaking hands.

"Liz," Sean stepped closer and gripped my forearms.

"Sean?" I whispered.

"Yes?"

"Give me a last kiss?" I murmured.

"Of course," Sean didn't hear the 'last' part. He only heard 'kiss'.

He leaned down and gave me a quick, tender kiss and then pulled away. "Love you, Lizzy."

I sighed. "Love you, Sean. Goodbye."

I didn't know if I'd ever be returning to school or Sean as I walked away. All I knew is I had to see how John was doing and I had to give the killer a piece of my mind. No one killed my Uncle Sherlock without facing my wrath.

 

'John, tell me it isn't true. -LP'

'It is.'

'How? -LP'

'He jumped.'

'Was he depressed? Why did no one tell me to come home? -LP'

'He gave no warning.'

'John, come pick me up. I'm coming home. -LP'

 

My bags were packed and at my side when the cab pulled up with John in the backseat. He didn't get out just stared out the opposite window. I didn't wait for an answer or sign, I just slung my bags into the trunk and climbed in the cab.

John didn't say hello, just grunted in response. I waited until the cab started to pull away before I flung my arms around John's neck.

He stiffened-which was unJohn-like-before he finally put his arms around me. I felt him shake and I clutched him closer.

"John, I'm sorry. I should have been there." I whispered.

"No, no. You couldn't have seen it. That wasn't for children's eyes." John sighed, pulling away.

I could see his eyes were tired. He looked aged, worse than he had been when I left for school a year ago.

"John, how are you doing?" I asked softly.

"I'm fine. Mrs. Hudson is helping me clean out his stuff. We're just packing it away...in case..."

"He's not dead." I finished. I knew John didn't want to accept it any more than I did.

"I'm going to kill whoever did it." I muttered.

"He did it, 'Lizabeth. There's no way to get vengeance. It's not worth it anyway."

"Sherlock is always worth it. You know that too."

"'Lizabeth, I understand if you want to go back on the streets." John whispered.

"I-" I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted vengeance, but did I want to stay with John at 221B? I really didn't know.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Love you."

"Love you too."

 

The flat was cold when I entered it. John instantly slumped into his chair. I was going to sit on the sofa, but that was Sherlock's spot. So, was the chair. So, I set myself down on the floor. John noticed, but didn't say anything.

"John, I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. Nothing could have changed his mind. He called me right before he jumped."

"Oh, sorry."

Silence resumed. Then I broke it.

"John, I'm going to bed."

With that I headed downstairs to my bedroom.

 

My room was just as I left it. Bed still unmade, closet still half full. Black leather jacket still draped over the bedpost. Neither Mrs. Hudson, nor John dared to clean my room while I was gone. Not since the last time, I'd gone out on a date with Sean. I came back to find Mrs. Hudson had thrown out my moldy bread experiment.

I shook my head at the memory, remembering how Sherlock had stuck up for me, recalling a time the duo had cleaned up after him. The memory made me laugh and it almost hurt.

I especially knew they hadn't gone through my room when I found the kitchen knife sheathed under my pillow. John had been convinced that Sherlock had wandered off with the knife for one of his experiments. I was so glad Uncle Sherlock hadn't given me away.

I quickly ditched my school uniform, so glad to be rid of the stupid scratchy uniform. Changing into better suited jeans and long sleeve t-shirt. I glanced down at my crime solving jacket, I hadn't worn it in nearly a year. I kind of missed it.

Would putting it on feel too much like preparing for a case with John and...him? Was it safe? I still didn't understand why he had done it. It didn't make sense. Did he get too bored with John and decide to just leave everything behind? I can't believe he was a fake.

Yes, I will put on the jacket. I missed it too desperately.

 

I wasn't expecting to find something in the pocket. I hardly ever used the chest pocket on the jacket, it was too tedious. Often times I forgot I had a pocket there. I still don't know how the note's owner knew the pocket was there. I unfolded the note and started to read:

''Lizabeth,

I apologize for this occurring while you were away. I wish I could tell you in person, as you are one of the only few I trust with the truth, but time was of the essence when this occurred.

As they say, I hope you are sitting down...' I did as the note ordered, seating myself on my bed. '... 'Lizabeth, I am not dead. I am alive and well. You cannot tell John or anyone else at any cost. The world needs to believe I'm dead, or this will never work.

I jumped because Moriarty threatened to kill John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you if I did not. I am in pursuit of the snipers now and hope to be able to return to you and John soon. But it may be years, and I want you to take care of him. He will need lots of love while I am gone.

Don't let him spiral, Liz, and don't you spiral either. I will return I promise. If you need me at any time, text me. I will attempt to answer, but never contact me in front of John. I am taking enough risk informing you of this. No need to put both occupants of 221B in danger.

Again, I apologize and if you must know I miss you both terribly. Living alone again is harder than I believed.

Be strong, 'Lizabeth. I know you can be.

Sincerely,

Uncle Sherlock'

 

He was...alive? He was alive! But I couldn't tell John or anyone. Because we were all at risk. Aw, he trusted me enough to tell me the truth. How nice. But that still didn't mean the expanse of time between now and his return wouldn't be excruciatingly hard.

I quickly located my cell phone.

'You had better fully 'deduct' your hoax when you get home. -LP'

I sighed, and laid back on my bed. It felt so good to be back home at 221B. Yet, the circumstances kept smacking me in the face, making the homecoming not so sweet.

My cell vibrated beside me. I nearly lunged for it. I had never awaited a text so much in my life. I stared at the dim screen in pure relief.

'I promise a full explanation upon my return. -SH'

I shut my eyes and sighed. He was alive. Well, unless this was his killer and he was tricking me into believing it was Sherlock. Time to test it then.

'What am I most afraid of in Doctor Who? -LP' I replied.

Seconds later the phone displayed the message: 'The Weeping Angels because you can't stare at a statue forever. -SH'

Oh, thank God. It was Uncle Sherlock, only he knew about my irrational fear of every statue in London. He found it very tedious and dull. Yet, he still put up with my constant need for detours around them.

'May I ask what that question was for? -SH'. My phone buzzed again.

I smiled as I replied: 'Had to make sure it was really you and not your killer tricking me. -LP'

'That's my girl. -SH'

Over the last few months before I went to boarding school, Sherlock always used to take great pride in whenever my actions were more Holmes-like than Watson-like. I'd learned most of manners for around the public from John, but my manners around the house were a lot like Sherlock's-in other words, I had no manners.

I actually even walked around in a nightgown all day, the day before I left for school. Earned a real grin from Mr. No-Smiles-Holmes. I was quite proud of myself.

'I miss you. -LP' I texted.

'I miss you too. -SH'

'John misses you too. -LP'

'Take care of him, please. -SH'

'Is this Sherlock Holmes being sentimental? -LP'

'Shut up, Lizabeth. -SH'

'I'm gonna go back to John now, make sure he's still okay. I'll text you tonight. -LP'

'Good girl. -SH'

'Love you, Uncle Sherlock -LP'

I got no reply, so I tucked my phone in my pocket along with Sherlock's letter. Then I trudged back up to the flat. I found John on the sofa, looking like he was trying to remember Sherlock.

"John," I called softly.

"Hmm?" John didn't turn toward me.

"Wanna watch Doctor Who or Supernatural?" I asked.

"Whatever."

I found some episodes of Doctor Who on, a set with the Tenth Doctor and Donna Noble. I then went to sit beside John and curled up against his side, like I had long ago with Sherlock after watching Supernatural back on the case with Miss Rylee Ezra. I noticed John didn't watch the show much, instead he sort of sat there. When a laugh would bubble out of me at something the Tenth would say, John would barely smile.

We made it only three episodes before I got tired of being the only one mentally there. I shut off the television and turned to John.

"Go to bed." I snapped.

"Wha-?"

"I said, go. To. Bed. You're tired and stressed, go to bed."

"But-"

"No, Sherlock's not coming back and you moping around wouldn't help it anyway. You and I are going to the cemetery tomorrow, so go to bed." I ordered.

I followed John all the way to the staircase before heading downstairs with my leather jacket on.

I quickly rapped on Mrs. Hudson's door and she popped her head out.

"Oh, 'Lizabeth dear."

"Sorry, Mrs. H, save it. Could you please keep an eye on John, I'm going out for a bit and I'd like to know he's alright." I tried to smile.

"Of course, dear. Go, take your mind off things." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Thanks, Mrs. H. You're a life saver." I grinned, then dashed to my room for one final thing before I left.

 

I took a cab to the other side of town, somewhere near the scene of my very first case. The case of 'the Girl on Our Doorstep' as John and I had deemed it. I found the exact alley where 'WIP IV' had been painted, though now it was covered in new graffiti from local gangs and rebellious teens.

I pulled my phone out and sent a call to Sean. He didn't answer, and the call forwarded to voicemail.

"Hey-o, this is 'the' Sean Turner, I'm probably out doing something 'way' cooler than monitoring my mobile, so leave a message and I will try to get back to you. Stay awesome!" Sean's voicemail boasted, I was used to the silly message by now though it still made me smile.

I waited for the beep, and left my message. "Hey, Sean, it's Liz. Just checking in. I'll probably be here with John for the rest of the term, so I'll talk to you some other time. Details are a little rough over voicemail, so I love you and I'll see you on Christmas break, okay? Bye." I hung up and shut the phone again.

I leaned against the alley wall, I hated lying to Sean. He was sweet and my first love, so lying seemed like cheating, but Sherlock told me not to tell anyone. So, I couldn't. I'd just have to be another actress in Sherlock's show.

I then dialed a new number and put the phone up to my ear.

"I told you to text not call, 'Lizabeth."

I smiled. "Well, hello to you too. Sorry, this is kind of urgent."

"Urgent how?" Sherlock pressed.

"Um, urgent as in John is already spiralling urgent."

"What?" Sherlock spat.

"Yeah, I'd tried to watch Doctor Who with him today. He didn't even pay attention. So, I sent him to bed. Mrs. Hudson's watching him now."

"And where are you?"

"The alley way from our first case together."

"Why?"

"Well, I couldn't have John hearing me talk to you, now could I?"

"I suppose."

"What should I do?"

"You're a smart girl, figure out how to fix him."

"I'm scared, Uncle Sherlock." I whispered.

"There's no reason to be. You can take care of yourself. You managed that for five years."

"Yeah, and I was twig-thin, socially awkward, and afraid of my own species. That's not exactly excelling at living on my own."

"Just watch him."

"What if he tries to...off himself."

"Stop him?"

"And if I can't?"

"Enough with the what-ifs. You can do this, 'Lizabeth. I know you can."

I sighed and sat on the dank alley floor, resting my head against the wall. "Okay, I guess."

There was silence for a moment or two. Then: "'Lizabeth?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let him do anything to harm himself."

"I'll try my hardest. Even if it means my life."

"Don't." I heard Sherlock exhale. "Don't...say that."

"But it's true." I protested.

"Just don't."

"Okay."

Silence fell again. I glanced toward the mouth of the alley and something caught my eye. 'Someone' actually. I cursed under my breath and shot to my feet. The figure caught sight of me and took off running.

"What's going on?" Sherlock called and I pulled the phone away from my ear.

I stuffed the phone-still on-in my pocket and dashed after the figure. I ignored the shouting I heard from my cell, I couldn't stop for anything.

The figure slid into another alley and I followed. Though the figure was honestly quite stupid, what kind of outfit is that for running?

I fished my knife out of my jacket pocket and took a well aimed shot.

"Aahh!" The figure shrieked as she was yanked back by the loose sleeve on her shirt.

The knife had easily sliced the material and embedded itself in the poster behind it, holding the sleeve to the wall. The figure started to yank on the handle of the knife.

"I wouldn't do that, Rylee." I hissed, striding over to her. "Who's to say I don't have a gun on me too."

"Oh, so the detective's suicide brought my hero back to town," the woman spat. "Lovely!"

"What brought you back to town?" I inquired.

"My dearest Moriarty did, honey." Rylee cackled.

Rylee struggled, but brought herself into the light of the street lamp. He hair was still the same blood red and her eyes-still lined in dark makeup-were still that gold color, due to the contacts she probably still wore. Her lips were still ruby red and too big for her face.

"Ugly as ever, Ry." I snorted.

"Snarky as ever, Lizzy." Rylee giggled.

"Trademark." I snarled. "How did Moriarty bring you back? He's dead."

"Or so the papers think! Mortals are so thick-headed! Isn't it just adorable? Maybe I should get a pet or two like dear old Holmes had with you and his boyfriend."

"Rylee, I swear to God, I will kill you this time." I snarled.

"No, you won't."

I shoved Rylee against the wall, and yanked my knife out of the wall. I shoved it up against his throat, right beneath her pulse. I smirked at the fear that leapt into those golden eyes.

"Wanna bet?" I hissed. "Where's Moriarty?"

"I'll never tell!" Rylee screamed, no doubt trying to create a scene-attract attention so she could get away and put the blame on me. "I'll go to the grave."

"Good." With one angry stroke, I stabbed her throat.

"I hate her." I grumbled, walking away.

I slid the knife back into my jacket before leaving the alley. I retrieved my phone and placed it back at my ear.

"You still there?" I asked.

"Yes. What was that?" Sherlock actually sounded concerned.

"Just Miss Rylee E sticking her nose into things again. She won't be a problem anymore though." I sighed.

"What did you do?" Sherlock sighed.

"I may have just slit her throat." I whispered, passing a young couple on the street.

Sherlock sighed. "I heard every word she said. That wasn't necessary."

"Eh, she got on my nerves for the last time." I chuckled.

"Impulsive as ever, 'Lizabeth." Sherlock sighed.

"It came with the package." I smiled, reaching a hand up to hail a cab. "I gotta head back home, so Lestrade can't suspect me in the killing of Miss Rylee Ezra."

"Alright, take care. No trouble, okay?"

"We both know that's impossible. Love you, Uncle Sherlock."

There was quiet for a few seconds then: "Love you too, 'Lizabeth."

The line went dead. I smiled as I slid it into my pocket and a black expensive car pulled up. A woman rolled down the back window and looked away from her phone.

"Get in."

I sighed. Really, Mycroft? Really? But I climbed into the car anyway.

 

"Was this necessary, Mycroft?" I asked, walking over to the semi-portly government man.

Mycroft swung his beloved umbrella. He actually smiled at me. Really smiled.

"Just wanted to see how my niece was dealing with the news." He said.

"I have a phone." I rolled my eyes, showing the device in question to my uncle.

"And I know you were also occupying that mobile, talking to a certain someone."

I scoffed, then paused. "Wait, you know he's alive?"

Mycroft looked a little appalled at my question. "Well, of course. He is my brother after all."

"And he's my...father, so-" I stopped, 'so' what? What did it matter? It obviously hadn't kept Sherlock here.

"Oh, don't stress yourself, 'Lizabeth." Mycroft sighed. "He only told a select few. You weren't the only one."

"I didn't think I was. I just don't understand why John can't know."

"Because John would tell the others. He would be sympathetic to the others and ease their pain by revealing the truth. You or I on the other hand have leant the disadvantages of sentiment and can refuse the need to ease others' pain."

Speak for yourself, Mycroft. I would have to tell the others too, I hate seeing John upset. I despise the less sunny version of Mrs. Hudson. I don't know how Lestrade is holding up, but I'm sure he worries about John too.

"Of course." I lied. "Have you...seen him?"

"On occasion, I am the one who arranged his false identity for the time being. It may have proved difficult to board planes or book accommodations if he claimed to be a dead man."

"Oh," I couldn't help my sigh.

"Elizabeth Page, this should not bother you. You are a 'child'." Mycroft sighed.

"I am not a child. I am nineteen and can take care of myself, but that doesn't mean I don't miss my only father."

"You hardly mourned your biological father."

"Because he was an ass, and I hated him. I love Sherlock Holmes and I always will, despite his ability to be a righteous prat-much like his brother." I sneered.

Mycroft sent me a glare to which I sent him a sneering grin. I absolutely didn't care that my uncle was practically the British government. He was still my uncle and he was a riot to make fun of. He never took too kindly to it.

"Anthea, please take Elizabeth home." Mycroft ordered.

I stuck my tongue out at the use of my full name. Only Mycroft called me by my full name when he was angry with me.

But I allowed the woman with the phone to lead me away to the car and I let her drive me back to Baker street. Didn't stop my complaining all the way home. I may be nineteen, but when I'm mad I'll act like a five year old.

"Your boss is really annoying, y'know."

"He's a right, nasty prat."

"He's fat too."

"Needs to lay off the cake."

"Sherlock always said Mycroft liked cake."

"It's why he's so fat."

Anthea kicked me out a block from Baker Street. She didn't even look up from her Blackberry.

I couldn't help my huge grin.

 

The next few months were hard. I managed to catch up on the wellbeing of all our friends. Lestrade was dealing with things fine, said he would never believe that Sherlock had been fake. The consulting detective was too arrogant to be fake. Anderson and Donovan were perfectly happy to have the 'freak' gone and their point proven.

I broke Anderson's nose when he laughed. That was fun.

Mrs. Hudson was fine and Molly Hooper was a little jumpy, but Molly's had a crush on Sherlock and losing him must have taken some toll.

John and I visited Sherlock's grave regularly. John always spoke to it. I always gave John a little privacy when he did. Usually I climbed the nearby tree, and scanned the cemetery.

After the news of the snipers, I'd always kept lookout, in case one decided John at Sherlock's grave was an ideal target.

My gun and knife never left the pocket inside my jacket. Never.

Once I even spotted the familiar shape of a dark billowing coat from my tree. And I knew I wasn't seeing things.

I whistled my lullaby as we left the cemetery that day.

 

But things got complicated as the year mark approached.

John grew distant. He wouldn't speak for days, he lost weight, the shake in his left hand resurfaced, and he retrieved his cane.

I noticed these things and grew worried. I phoned Lestrade and Mycroft to let them know. Their visits to the flat increased drastically.

Then it escalated to John never leaving his room.

This worried me even more and I was almost positive I could feel my heart breaking.

I would carry breakfast, lunch, and dinner up to John everyday. I'd sit in his room and eat with him, trying to coax some words out of him. Most days I got no more than the repetition of the phrase: "He's really gone."

And my heart would shatter even more.

 

But the day my heart imploded in my chest is a day I'll not soon forget.

It was around noon and I had prepared tea for John and was carrying the cup up to his room. I heard a sob and paused, knowing the sound was John. The sobs were normal now; the soldier in him had hidden long ago. He was just a broken man now.

I set down the tea cup and knocked lightly on the closed door.

"Dad?" I called softly. "I brought some tea, can I come in?"

"'M good, Liz. Thanks anyway." Was the broken soft reply.

"You need to drink something, John." I tried again.

"No thank you, 'Lizabeth." John muttered.

"John, I'm coming in."

I picked up the tea cup and opened the door.

The tea cup shattered against the floor.

"John..."

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed. His eyes were rimmed red and he shook violently. The grey in his sandy hair had grown.

But all I saw was the revolver pressed to the roof of his mouth.

He saw me and a particularly rough sob shook him. But the revolver didn't lower.

"God, John. Don't." I whispered, inching forward. I paid no attention to the shards off glass cutting into the soles of my socks. "John. Dad. Please."

John shook his head and closed his eyes. More tears leaked out.

"Dammit, John. Put the gun down. Think about this. You and I both know he wouldn't like this."

He shook his head again and his grip on the gun stopped shaking.

"John, I need you. Without you, I have no one."

"I have no one." John mumbled around the gun.

"You have Mrs. Hudson. You have Lestrade. You have Mycroft." I sighed. "You have me, John. We have each other. We need each other."

John continued to stare as I got close enough to sit on the bed. I reached out for the gun, still talking.

"John, I guarantee he would not like this. His best friend too weak to live for their daughter? Too weak to carry on without him?"

"John, you're a soldier. A damn fine soldier. Be strong."

I wrapped my fingers around John's, peeling the gun from them. "We need you, John. We need you." I don't know if John noticed the 'we' in those sentences.

I emptied the ammunition from the gun and laid it on the table beside John's bed. Then I inched back beside John and embraced him.

It terrified me that I could wrap my short arms all the way around his body.

John clutched me closer and the sobs erupted again. I held him and shushed him finally understanding what everyone meant about motherly instincts.

And then John whispered the very thing that imploded my already shattered heart.

"God, I miss him so much."

Something had to be done. Quickly.

 

After getting John to bed and confiscating John's gun and ammo, I excused myself downstairs and knocked rapidly on Mrs. Hudson's door.

"Oh, 'Liz." She answered the door. "My niece is over, would you like to meet her?"

"No time, Mrs. H. This is kind of urgent." I sighed, peeking at the girl in the flat behind Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh?"

"John just tried to shoot himself." I whispered.

Mrs. Hudson gasped and her hand flew to lay on her heart. "Oh, dear. But-"

"Keep an eye on him. I have to make a call. I confiscated his gun, but he was a soldier. He probably knows a thousand ways to kill a man, including himself."

"But-"

"Just keep an eye on him. Please."

"Of course, dear."

"Thanks." Without a word I flew to my room, still not moving fast enough.

My fathers' lives were at stake. And yes, that was intentionally plural.

 

"Yes, tried to 'kill' himself, you idiot!" I shouted into my phone.

"And you stopped him?" Sherlock actually had the gall to sound concerned.

"No, God Sherlock, yes I stopped him! Would I be this calm if I hadn't?" I spat.

"Good." Was all Sherlock said.

"Good? Good? He tried to kill himself! Because of you!" I growled. "Enlighten me, how is that good?"

"He's not dead."

"No shit." I sighed, lying back on my bed.

"So?"

"So, you need to come home, Sherlock." I said. "He's broken. John is broken. You broke him, and he needs to be put back together. I can't do that. None of us here can. You can. You can fix John."

"I can't return yet."

"Then you will come home to an empty flat! I won't be able to keep John from his gun forever, and when John is gone, so will I. I'll have nothing left here. I will go back to the streets."

"Liz."

"No, don't you 'Liz' me. I'm not kidding." I hissed. "You are ruining our lives, Sherlock Holmes! And I'm on the verge of hating your arrogant ass."

There was silence on the other end. I smirked satisfied, I think I had just shocked Sherlock Holmes into thinking of others for once.

"So?" I prodded.

"I've got the last sniper in my sights. I'll be home by the end of the week."

"You better." I hissed.

The line went dead.

"Aaah! You arrogant sod!" I tossed my cell onto the floor.

 

"John?" I whispered to the open doorway.

The man in question was curled on his side, lying on his bed. I could see the shivers coursing through his body.

He looked more broken than before.

"John?"

John didn't move. He didn't acknowledge my presence in the doorway. So, I invited myself in. I padded softly to the bed and inched up next to John. I slowly wrapped my arms around John and nestled my face into his back.

"I'm sorry, John." I whispered.

 

The remaining week was hard. John didn't leave the curled up state, he didn't even eat. I got worried and phoned Lestrade, wondering if the Detective Inspector had any idea how to help John. He didn't. I tried not to let that bother me.

It became routine for me to curl up beside my adopted dad each night. Most nights he didn't even acknowledge me, and most nights that put yet another dagger in my already shattered heart.

Some nights John woke in a cold sweat and I had to coax the older man to settle himself back down and back to sleep.

Other nights I woke from a nightmare. The nightmares were never the same. Sometimes it began like my old nightmares of my dad, until it was either Sherlock or John beating me. Sometimes I awoke and instantly checked John's breathing, because my nightmare had depicted waking beside John's dead body. Sometimes I just felt alone, like I'd never been accepted in 221B and the family I'd met there.

This was going to be extremely hard to beat when Sherlock returned home.

 

Finally, that day arrived. It was about three in the afternoon, and John was still in his room. I'd collapsed on the stairs after rushing up at the sound of John's yell. It had been another bad dream.

I was exhausted, I'd gotten little to no sleep the past week and I was near my end.

But all my energy returned when the doorbell downstairs rang.

"I'll get it!" I called, despite knowing John wouldn't get it and Mrs. Hudson was out on an errand.

I scrambled down the staircase, my socks barely finding purchase on the steps. My heart was pounding and I was gasping for breath.

'Move faster, Liz!' I berated myself silently.

Finally, I wrenched open the front door and there he was.

First thing I noticed was the fact he was thinner. Seems the separation had taken a toll on him too. His curls were a little longer, but still their recognizable dark color. His eyes were tired and yet at the same time they held part of the excitement he found in crime.

"Oh, God." I managed.

Then I collapsed against him, throwing my arms around his neck. I buried my face into his shoulder, finally tall enough to do so. I didn't even realize I was crying or that he was hugging me back, I just tightened my grip around the very real detective.

I don't know how long we stood there, but when we finally pulled away he held me at arms' length.

"You're beautiful." He whispered.

I knew for a fact that wasn't true, I'd nearly reverted back to the state I'd been in when I first met him. I had no time for appearance anymore.

"Well, I've grown up a bit since I last saw you." I forced myself to smile.

"That you have. Into a beautiful young woman."

"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" I smirked.

"Oh, Liz."

"I'm kidding." I hugged him again. "I love you, Uncle Sherlock."

"And I love you, Lizzy." He whispered. "Now, where is John? Is he alright?"

"He's definitely not alright, but he's alive." I started leading the way up the two staircases. "Barely..."

Silence enveloped the stairs and we climbed. I hoped he thought a long time about what he'd done to John and me, and what'd he have to do to make it up to us.

I shushed him when we reached John's shut door. I knocked twice on the door and called softly into the room.

"John? Dad? There's someone here to see you."

There was quiet for a minute, then: "Tell them to go away."

"Dad, it's someone important." I tried again, watching distress color the face of the man beside me.

"Is it Lestrade?"

"Nope."

"Mycroft?"

"Nope."

"A doctor?"

"John, you're the doctor." I chuckled.

"Then I don't want to see them."

I sighed, placing a hand on the doorknob. "John, hon," I felt like I was dealing with a small child throwing a tantrum. "I'm coming in, and I'm bringing my friend in."

"Believe me, you'll want to see them."

There was a mumbled "Whatever," on the other side of the door and I pushed the door open.

John was still curled up on his bed, and I grimaced slightly. I watched the detective's face fall and for the first time I saw uncensored hurt in his eyes. I gently motioned for him to go to John's side.

"John?" The baritone voice filled the silence.

John's shoulders stiffened at the voice and I heard him gasp softly.

"I'm dreaming. Don't haunt me, Sherlock." John's voice sounded more hoarse than it had through the door.

My hand flew to my mouth, covering my own gasp. My eyes stayed on the detective as he made his way to his soldier.

"John, I am here. For you. 'Lizabeth called me, said you tried to kill yourself." He tried again.

"You left me. You don't care."

I inched forward, sinking onto John's bed on the opposite side. I was just a spectator; they needed this to be just them.

"John, don't even think for a moment that I don't care. You are my blogger, my doctor, you and I share a wonderful, beautiful daughter," Aw, thanks buddy. "And I wouldn't trade you for anyone. I'd never allow anyone to take your place."

I watched John's shoulders start to relax. I began to smile.

"I missed you, John, you make my life exciting. You and Lizabeth are my life. Without you two I was lost."

"S-Sh-Sherlock?" John finally uncovered his face and looked at the man.

"Hello, John." I watched an elated smile light the detective's face and felt a similar one find mine.

"Why?" Were John's next words.

"Moriarty threatened my family, unless I jumped."

"Family?"

"Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, 'Lizabeth, and...you, John. I couldn't let that happen."

"You could have told me." John sighed.

The detective inched closer. "I'm sorry, John."

Then the two embraced and I felt the stupid tears again. They held onto each other like they were going to disappear again. It was honestly beautiful.

"Alright, dangit, I want a hug!" I suddenly cried, flopping across the bed to the men.

They both laughed, a sound I truly missed and offered me a place in their arms. I snuggled into the grasp of my fathers and smiled.

Yes, this was right. This was what I'd been missing, and now it was here and things were alright.

"You're still in trouble, Sherlock Holmes." I growled.

"No experiments for a week." John piped up.

Sherlock suddenly pulled back and I knew my Uncle Sherlock was back when he sighed and whined:

"But, Jaaaawwwnnn!"

 

Yes, this was how things were supposed to be.


End file.
